Lawman's Lament
by lostcowgirl
Summary: The job takes its toll on a man. All Matt wants to do is get home but he must first protect a boy, a strongbox with money for Ft. Dodge and himself.
1. Chapter 1 A Slight Detour

A Slight Detour

Matt Dillon, already a week late, was a passenger on the stage leaving Brookville, a small town between Salina and Ellsworth, accompanied by a bewildered, grieving boy of eight whose ill mother had just passed and whose father was being escorted back to the state penitentiary in Lansing. If it weren't for the distance and the boy's age he would have used the funds the government provided for the assignment to buy a couple of cheap horses. Truth be told, he'd rather have delivered Henry Trivett who'd been convicted of robbing Bodkin's bank and wounding the elderly teller Elroy Parker to Lansing entirely on horseback.

Trivett, a real piece of work thought the only thing wrong with his attempted armed robbery was Marshal Dillon arrested him as he ran out the door, the smoking gun still in his right hand. In the mind of the unkempt, burly man of just over six feet all lawmen were the cause of such failures and deserved to be put out of their misery by any means possible. Knowing how his prisoner felt, Matt couldn't take a chance being alone on the trail with him for 340 miles. Besides, even though the cattle season was over, Dodge City, the town he called home, needed the law's presence. His assistant Chester Goode would do his best but couldn't be expected to keep an eye on things for a week or more unless there was no other choice. Consequently, the lawman escorted his prisoner by train as far as Leavenworth, renting horses to ride the remaining ten miles to Lansing, cutting the travel time to a single day.

That was yesterday. This morning he reckoned as he ate his breakfast, having paid his hotel bill, all he need do to get home tonight was make his way to the stable to retrieve the two rented horses and ride to Leavenworth in plenty of time to catch the 10 AM westbound train. He should be back to Dodge in time to make his late rounds. Instead his plans were thwarted. Just as he was savoring a final cup of coffee that wasn't made from week-old grounds in anticipation of his return home, the warden joined him at his table.

"Marshal, glad I caught you. I've a favor to ask. The government already approved the necessary funds."

"What do you want me to do Jenkins? It seems Washington's already decided I'm helping out."

"A model prisoner's wife is in the last stages of consumption and won't live much more than a couple days. I doubt Hack Patterson would have tried robbing that stage if he weren't so desperate to find some way to keep his Martha alive longer. In any case, once he was convicted Patterson finalized the arrangements for his eight-year-old son Peter to live with his aunt and uncle on their farm ten miles east of Dodge while he serves out his five-year sentence. Takin' the boy to Dodge will just delay some."

"Who's the family? I most likely know them."

"Mr. and Mrs. Rod Gilbert. When Cora Gilbert heard her sister was sick, they offered to take the boy after his ma passed. They'll be expecting a wire alerting them you're bringing the boy."

An hour later Matt reluctantly sent his own telegram to let Chester, Doc and Kitty know he'd be delayed at least several days. Instead of leaving Lansing alone to catch and ride the morning train west from Leavenworth through to Dodge City alone, he'd travel with three others only as far as Brookville to meet up with young Peter.

During the first leg the two guards and Patterson rode the prison wagon. One of the two horses Matt rented was tied to the back of it while he rode the other. The four men made it to the Leavenworth train depot by 9:55 giving Matt time to obtain a cash refund of the portion of the fare from Salina to Dodge.

Since he had every reason to get there and was surrounded on the train the three lawmen allowed Hack to sit without handcuffs or leg irons. They acted like four men returning home from a business trip to the big city during the five-hour 170-mile journey from Leavenworth to Salina. Matt used the conversation to learn what he could about the man whose son he'd soon be escorting and his feelings.

"Hack, Rod and Cora Gilbert are good people," Matt reassured the distraught husband and father as they prepared to disembark at Salina. "They'll do their best to see your boy over the rough patches while he gets to know them."

"Thank you, Marshal Dillon. I sense you're a caring man and will see to it Pete arrives not just safely, as your job requires, but reassured."

The men covered the remaining 12 miles of their trip in silence. Hack sat in a rented buggy with Charlie, the older but stockier of the two guards, who drove, while Matt and Bill, rode their rented horses on either side. They'd already eaten a late dinner or early supper in Salina at four so they rode directly to the two-room house on the only back street in the tiny town of Brookville Patterson rented for his family since he sold their farm a month before he tried to rob the stage half a year ago.

A week later Matt, having sent off wires to Chester, Kitty, Doc and the Gilberts, emerged from the Brookville combined stage depot and telegraph office to await the only stage heading for Dodge in the next five days. Instead of getting back late on the sixth by train and alone he'd finally make it home with a lad in tow on the 15th, barring delays, spending at least three of those days on a stage. Too bad the government funds, including the refund and whatever spare money he carried, weren't near enough to pay for man and boy on the much faster train.

Pete clung to his father as they watched the stage that would take them on west arrive. Matt hated to pull the lad away from his remaining parent, but Hack had to go back to prison and Matt couldn't delay his return home any longer. As the coach pulled away, Pete stared out the window at the buggy and two horses heading in the opposite direction, doing his best to hold back the tears. He'd cried when his ma was buried, but he wasn't about to cry when only he and the big marshal taking him to live with the aunt and uncle he'd never met and a stranger were on the stage. Instead he asked a question.

"Mr. Dillon do you think Aunt Cora and Uncle Rod will like me? I mean they know my pa robbed that stage as it went past our farm, but he only did it for money to help Ma get better. They won't hold what he did against me, will they?"

"Kid, if they're good people they'll understand your pa had no choice and accept you as kin even though he failed," the man sitting across from Pete said. "Ain't that right, mister?"


	2. Chapter 2 There's Better Ways to Travel

There's Better Ways to Travel

Matt answered the hardware accessories drummer's question about Pete's kin with a glare, silencing him. The marshal pushed his hat over his eyes to doze for what remained of the 100 miles to Larned. From what Slim Tompkins the driver and Reese Norway his shotgun guard told him, Dillon needed to be alert on the final leg of the trip if only to keep the boy from being hurt if there was trouble. If nothing happened, Pete still needed him. Matt knew how losing a mother and father along with everything else you'd ever known tore you up inside, but the lawman was nearly five years older when he was orphaned. Unlike that miserable time in his own life when his folks met their death in a fire, Pete's pa would return and his kin would raise him until then.

Nine hours later, including two 15-minute stops to change horses and allow the passengers a chance to stretch their legs at a couple non-descript relay stations and an hour-long stop in Great Bend for a late dinner at 1:30, Matt still didn't trust the passenger seated across from them. It was a gut reaction to the man of average height and build, with neatly trimmed light brown hair and a wisp of a mustache, who wore a coat and hat that were a bit more subdued than expected. The man's appearance wasn't odd enough to cause his distrust by itself, but the gun belt he glimpsed concealed beneath the salesman's coat, made the lawman believe he was up to no good probable. Many traveling men carried a pistol for protection, but not a Peacemaker.

Matt Dillon wasn't one to take unnecessary chances. Given his hunch about the stranger, the marshal wanted Pete to keep his distance from the man who, according to Slim, called himself Brad Shumway. He gave the boy a quarter and sent him across the road from the Larned stage depot to the general store so he could more easily watch Shumway while he and the stage company men conferred with the army's representatives who'd been waiting for the coach to arrive. Matt breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the supposed salesman turn toward the nearest saloon rather than follow Pete. It didn't completely ease the fear he still might have to choose between putting his obligation to get the boy to his kin unharmed and protecting the strongbox in order to safeguard both.

"I don't mean to be rude, sir, but why didn't you go with your son to the store? Army business is none of your concern," the lieutenant added as if he were issuing an order to the sergeant and private standing stiffly next to him rather than the tall, handsome stage passenger.

"It's rude, but I reckon I should introduce myself, Lieutenant," Matt replied with the voice of authority before either of the stage company employees could explain his presence. "Name's Dillon. Matt Dillon, the US Marshal over in Dodge," he added pulling aside his coat and vest to reveal his badge.

"Sorry, Marshal. Glad you're here to provide extra protection. Major Honeywell will have a detail ready to take possession of the strongbox in Dodge City to take it the rest of the way to Fort Dodge."

Matt never let on he knew, thanks to Chester's reply to his telegram, the strongbox contained five bags containing $25 gold pieces and paper money, divided into $1,000 packets of $100 bills, totaling $25,000. He successfully gave the impression he knew less of the details of the transfer from one fort to the other than the driver and guard and of course the lieutenant to keep the army officer focused on the money rather than on Pete who, while sharing his blue eyes, had straight rather than curly brown hair and without the red highlights. Matt saw no point in drawing attention to conflict of interest.

By four the army's money was secure behind the feet of the stage company men under the box where the driver and guard sat. Slim controlled six running horses and Reese cradled his Winchester as they continued on their journey. For once even the Kansas weather was cooperating. There was no sign of rain in the cloudless azure sky and the temperature hovered close to but never quite reached 70. If nothing unexpected happened they would cover the remaining 50 miles to Dodge in record time. Matt looked forward to a late super with Kitty at Delmonico's after he turned Pete over to his aunt and uncle at the depot.

The sun was setting, bringing on dusk, as the stage made its scheduled brief stop in Spearville. While there, Shumway tried to push his wares on several men but only one bothered to even take the drummer's card. It seemed strange to Matt that a man who looked more like a hired gun than a shopkeeper or rancher was the only one interested in wheel nuts and such, but pushed that curious fact to the back of his mind. Instead he let his guard down and engaged in a bit of wishful thinking that fully checking out Shumway could wait until he was back in his office.

"Unbuckle that gun belt with your left hand nice and slow or the kid's dead," Shumway calmly stated as the stage came to a sudden stop by the Arkansas near the northeast corner of Jake Worth's ranch. "Place it carefully next to me."

"Marshal!" Pete shouted as two shots rang out awakening the dozing boy. "What's happening?"

"My friends killed the driver and guard to get at the strong box, but that's not all," Shumway told him gloating as he continued. "We're gonna make even more money off the two of you. There's gotta be enough folks that don't hate Marshal Dillon here plus your kin to raise say five or maybe $6,000 so you can be with them."

Shumway shoved Pete out the door, using the six-gun in his hand while picking up Matt's weapon with the other to keep the marshal covered. The frightened boy tripped over the step below the door losing what little balance he had at the same moment the Matt made a grab for the outlaw. The spry man not only evaded the attack, he managed to plant a left hook to Matt's jaw and use the momentum to exit the coach. Shumway, having tossed Matt's side arm toward his men, held Pete firmly in his left hand. With the right one he aimed his Colt squarely at the emerging lawman's chest.

"Gord, Flint, I want you to savor this moment," he bragged to the two gunmen, one of whom Matt recognized as the man who took Shumway's business card in Spearville, who carried the strongbox between them. "Meet US Marshal Matt Dillon," he added. "Until further notice he and the kid are worth more to us alive than dead. Grab their gear from up top and this law dog's gun at your feet. Then find the irons I know he's carryin' to secure his hands after he writes a little note."

Matt wrote his own ransom note, signed it and handed the pencil and notepad to Pete for the boy to add a sentence and his name, all the time watching for a chance to create a disversion to allow the boy to race away through the copse of trees and follow the river until he found help. Three against one were poor odds even if he didn't have the boy to worry about. They were even worse because Shumway's partners were both burly men carrying close to 200 pounds of mostly muscle each who would kill just as soon as look at anyone in their way.

"I'm afraid you have no choice but to cooperate, law dog," Shumway snidely remarked as if he'd read Matt's thoughts. "Now be a good boy and put your hands behind your back," the gang leader sneered. As he snapped the cuffs his men tossed to him on the lawman's wrists he added "Kid, hand me the keys to these. They'll be in one of his pockets."

Matt outwardly ignored Shumway's insults, hoping the boy could read the silent message contained in his expression when Gord climbed into the stage, the ransom note hanging on the trigger of the marshal's gun to put in partway into the holster of his gun belt that was still on the seat where it would be easily spotted, but Shumway and Flint's aim never wavered. Then it was Shumway and Gord who still leveled a deadly aim at both Matt and Pete while Flint fetched three horses from the copse of about ten feet away.

"How did you know about the money?" Matt asked in hopes of distracting Shumway so he could run at him and shove him toward Gord while Pete got away. "Who told you?"

"The telegraph operator in Brookville. I regularly contacted the prison, so he had no problem letting me know when the stage company received special communications. I read the army's wire about adding a strong box full of money in Larned and passed it on to Flint with my card in Spearville. You had suspicions, but couldn't do nothin', 'specially bein' responsible for the kid."

Brad Shumway finished his speech, never taking his eyes off his kidnap victims, timing it so the final word came as Flint returned with the saddled horses. Then he nodded. Simultaneously, two lassos looped over the prisoner's heads and were pulled tight, pinning their arms to their sides. Matt, whose hands were already shackled uncomfortably behind his back, choked back a cry of pain when the rope forced his arms into an unnatural position.

"Boys, send that stage on to Dodge. It's dark and they'll soon wonder why it's late."

With that all three men fired their pistols, tossed whatever was handy and shouted at the team to scare the six horses into motion. As soon as the stage was on its way to Dodge Shumway jerked the rope holding Pete and Gord pulled on the one around Dillon propelling them forward toward the trees while turning them to face southeast toward the river rather than west. Another jerk on the ropes halted them in front of a couple of dense bushes in a tiny clearing under the trees.

"It's best you relieve yourselves now. It's your last chance for maybe 15 hours. "Kid, you'll have to help the dog lift his pisser free."

Matt wasn't sure who was more embarrassed by what Pete was forced to do, but somehow both managed to relieve themselves before they were jerked back toward where the horses stood. The three outlaws mounted one at a time. Shumway and Gord tied the rope attached to the prisoner each led to their saddle horn before starting off at a slow walk that gradually picked up pace until Pete was forced to run and Matt even with his much longer legs found it hard to keep upright unless he jogged.


	3. Chapter 3 Meanwhile Back in Dodge

AN: Thank you well-mannered guest for your review. You always offer excellent insight. Mary, I chose Brookville because it was conveniently located & was founded in 1870, the year this story is set. However, I did take some liberties with your hometown in that in the story it's well enough established to have a stage depot with a telegraph office inside it to allow my story to move forward.

Meanwhile Back in Dodge

The tired team pulling the driverless stage raced down Front Street, coming to a sudden halt in front of the jailhouse as if that were their destination. Chester certainly never thought it was simply where the horses stopped from total exhaustion. His mind was too filled with what Mr. Dillon would expect him to do about it to wonder why the stage halted here rather than the depot. He wasn't even aware of the townsfolk pouring out of the various businesses along the street to view the curious spectacle.

Despite his agitated feelings and confusion, the jailer was the first to notice the dead driver and guard and to check inside where he feared he'd see more bodies. What he did find didn't make him feel any better. Even so, by the time Kitty Russell reached the coach and Doc had instructed six of the men to take the bodies down from the box, Chester was back inside the jailhouse staring at a very familiar gun belt with a bone-handled Peacemaker still in the holster he'd removed from the seat. He drew it out slowly, failing to notice the note affixed to the trigger until the gun was halfway out of the leather. Shocked, he backed out of the office door nearly bowling over Kitty who'd finally pushed her way through the curious and restless crowd to reach it.

Chester, with sudden resolve, issued orders for whatever remained in or on the stage to be carried inside Mr. Dillon's office and piled upon the table. There wasn't much. Just a cardboard valise and carpetbag with a child's clothing and the marshal's saddlebags and carpetbag with his clothing and the usual items he took along when escorting a prisoner, except the handcuffs. A man dressed like a farmer, who'd carried one of the carpetbags and the cardboard valise inside, joined Chester Doc and Kitty in the office. Matt's assistant was all set to chase the stranger out with a sincere thank you so he and his two friends could read the note, but the man didn't give him a chance.

"I reckon we have more right to know what happened with that stage than your two friends, Mister Acting Marshal," he said motioning his brown-haired wife, who wore a calico dress and plain bonnet, forward from where she stood by the door. "Our nephew was on that stage with the marshal. A boy brung us a telegraph sayin' so."

"Well forevermore! You gotta be the Gilberts. Them two bags yah brung in must be Peter Patterson's. I reckon y'all do belong in here. Doc, you got somethin' to say?" Chester added seeing the physician's expression. "You always do."

"Don't let me stop you from making a mess of things. You didn't pay attention to what was in Matt's telegram, did you Chester? If you had you might not have been about to put your foot in your mouth as usual before Mr. Gilbert saved your bacon."

"Doc, instead of tellin' me what I done wrong in my job, you might just do yours and tend to the two men that was carried up tah yer office. Miss Kitty can tell yah what's in this here note later," Chester declared as he handed the piece of paper he'd removed from Matt's gun to Kitty.

"Slim and Reese are dead from gunshot wounds. No autopsy will tell me, or anyone else, different. Kitty, hurry up and read the note," he groused.

Kitty glanced at Matt's belongings on the office table to buck up her courage. The note contained answers to the fate of Marshal Matt Dillon and the motherless eight-year-old Peter Patterson. There was nothing to be gained by putting it off. She forced herself to begin reading, shocked to see Matt's handwriting. Still, seeing it gave her reason to hope.

"Choose an older man known and respected by everyone and a pretty, young woman, almost as familiar to most of the men, to drive a buggy to the stand of trees on the south side of the river three miles due south of Fort Dodge by noon tomorrow. Once there place my carpetbag containing nothing but $5,000 in the hollow trunk of the oak with the hole facing the water. Matt Dillon."

She paused a second then continued reading but with more difficulty. A second set of instructions that followed was both harder and easier to read even without tears.

"Aunt Cora and Uncle Rod follow the two in the buggy in your wagon with at least $500 in my emptied cardboard case and put it with Mr. Dillon's bag. Pete Patterson."

A third person wrote the final sentence. It had to be one of the kidnappers.

"We'll tell you where to collect the man and boy once you've shown good faith by exactly following what they wrote. Be sure none of you carries any weapons."

"At least we know they were still alive when this note was written," Kitty remarked grimly when she finished reading. "It's Matt's handwriting and what looks a child's scrawl, one who's recently begun learning script. Let's hope they're still alive tomorrow when we deliver the ransom."

Leaving Chester to look for whatever clues Matt might have been able to leave as to the identity or plans of the outlaws the remaining four began the process of fulfilling the demand. They went to every business still open for contributions toward the money that needed to be raised in the 15 hours left to them. In actuality it was more like eight hours because there was the hour or more it would take to get to the drop off point and even in Dodge City people who had both the means and inclination to risk any amount for a lawman and a boy took time to eat their suppers and sleep.

A discouraged quintet met at the jailhouse the following morning. None of the reputable citizens contacted thus far were willing to part with any of their hard earned savings on the slim chance Matt Dillon and Peter Patterson were still alive to be redeemed. Dodge House owner Jim Dolby voiced what many others thought.

"Even if against all odds they're still alive chances are the money will be lost forever. I'm sorry but we have to face facts."

There was only one thing left to do since Doc's $100 and Chester's five weren't nearly enough to meet the ransom demand. They had to get a loan from the bank.

"Mr. Bodkin, our nephew has lost so much recently. We can't allow him to lose his life too because we did nothing. We'll mortgage the farm to get the $500 they want."

"I'll mortgage my share of the Long Branch and grant the bank a lien against future earnings to meet the $5,000 they want for Matt. Are you willing to take even that small risk to possibly save a child and a man who's saved your bank from loss more than once?"

If Doc's will risk losing the $100 he currently has on deposit, I'm willing to loan you $500 Mr. Gilbert and you $5,000 Miss Kitty. I'll even forego any standard interest payments if the loans are paid in full within six months."

Doc's $100 sweetened Pete's ransom. Chester, wanting to play his part, donated the $2 Bridge Street toll to allow the buggy and farm wagon to cross to the south side of the Arkansas and back. The small procession drove eastward at a steady, brisk walk to the designated spot six miles east of town. At precisely noon, after locating the designated tree, they placed the two bags into the hollow as instructed. In less than a minute a voice yelled from across the way.

"I see you can follow instructions. Now we'll do our part."

"Hold on just a second," a very crotchety doctor yelled back. "Before we allow you to enrich yourselves, we'd like proof the two you're holding are alive."

"Alright old man. We'll let you glimpse them through the trees while we tell you what you gotta do to get them back."

Within seconds, two people, ropes around their chests, could be seen between gaps in the trees on the north bank. There was no way to tell for certain if they were alive or merely standing because the ropes and the men behind them holding a hand over their mouths held them erect. However, it was all the proof the kidnappers were willing to allow so the anxious quartet accepted they'd get was the final set of instructions.

"Return to town and make sure no one looks for us if you want to see these two again. At two leave Dodge in your buggy and wagon for the north side of the Santa Fe tracks where the Hays Road branches off from the Spearville Road. You'll know you're in the right place if you see a large boulder with a single tree on the Spearville side and two on the Hays side. Dillon and the boy will be tied to those trees."

Still worried, the quartet waited in the Long Branch where, if they wished, they could nibble at the free lunch without wasting money on a dinner they knew they'd only pick at. It was past one by the time they parked the buggy and wagon in front of the saloon, but that remaining hour until they could leave dragged on as if it were an entire day. Nearly exhausted from the tension they arrived at the fork six miles east of town shortly after three. Matt and Pete were tied to the trees as promised, but their relief was short lived.


	4. Chapter 4 It's All Part of the Job

AN: Thanks again to the well-mannered guest for your detailed & insightful reviews.

It's All Part of the Job

Matt recognized the shack that marked the end of their forced three-mile march through the prairie southwest from the point in the road where the stage was robbed. They had cut a diagonal swath through the grass to a point where the riverbank curved to the southeast due south of Fort Dodge before curving back north again a mile or two beyond where Spearville sat to the north. Exhausted, he and Pete stumbled into the line shack that marked the northeast border of Jake Worth's ranch.

The revolvers poked into their spines to push them inside were completely unnecessary because neither prisoner, particularly the boy, had the energy to resist. Both did as they were told and sank down on the floor against the bedstead in the corner farthest from the stove. Soon the end of the rope around Pete's chest was secured to one side of the frame at the foot of the cot like you would tether a horse or dog. Pete curled up on the floor and was soon asleep. The rope securing Matt was also looped around the bedstead, but it was pulled through and then tightly wound around his torso for several turns pushing his knees against his chest.

As much as his body craved it Marshal Matt Dillon couldn't rest even if he weren't in pain. He could no more ease the ache in his muscles, particularly his arms and hands, than he could see a way to perform his sworn duty. So far he'd failed in his responsibility to deliver Pete unharmed to his aunt and uncle and find a way to arrest the three men whispering to each other at the other end of the cabin for robbery, murder and kidnapping. The situation hadn't improved when the smell of beans cooking on the stove caused Pete to stir from his two-hour nap and the lawman to call over to the men once the boy was awake. Shumway took his time sauntering over without the requested food and water for either of them. Instead he pulled the rope binding Matt in his uncomfortable position tighter so that the lawman's knees dug into his chest forcing him to take shallow breaths if he wanted to breathe at all before grabbing what amounted to a lead to pull Pete toward the table where the three outlaws were finishing eating.

"Kid, you're welcome to the leavins in the pot and what water you can manage to swallow while washin' it and our dishes," Shumway told him. Tomorrow I'll fetch you to cook us up breakfast. You musta learned how while your ma was so sick and dogs like that cur Dillon trussed up over there made sure your pa wasn't around."

It was a strain to turn his head enough to see, but Matt watched with their captors as the lad scooped out the leftover beans with his hand then filled the pot with water so he could wash it. The resourceful eight-year-old, using the pot as a dishpan, managed to dip his cupped hands in the water and bring them up to his mouth for a sip before adding soap and then taking a second gulp of water when he rinsed them, simultaneously getting several drinks and washing the sticky bean residue off his hands. Matt had to content himself with the fact Pete wasn't being denied food and water. He could wait.

Judging from the angle of the sun coming through the window on the east side of the cabin Matt reckoned it was around seven when Gord and Flint collected Pete to cook breakfast. Once Gord had a firm hold of the lad's lead both men kicked the lawman a couple of times and spit in his face. All Matt could do was glare at them and watch them pull the lad toward the stove.

Pete cooked smoked side meat left from when Jake Worth's men departed the cabin a week ago along with more canned beans and boiled up a pot of coffee. He served the three outlaws and was rewarded with the leavings and a couple handfuls of water while he cleaned up. When the lad finished tidying the shack, three men and a child walked across the room to stand in front of where Matt was securely tied. Shumway, holding the lasso looped around Pete's torso nodded for Gord and Flint to ease the rope holding the big man enough so that he could stand if he used his hands, still cuffed behind him, to grab the foot of the bed for purchase. He must not have been quick enough because both men jerked the rope hard so the marshal, his legs stiff and unsteady under him, fell forward, his face striking the dirt floor.

"Boy, cain't you walk?" Brad Shumway jeered. "Fellas, this cur's gonna crawl to the door on his belly."

He wasn't sure how he did it without the use of his hands, but Matt managed to brace himself against the doorframe and stand. Being pulled on his stomach helped rid his legs of the pins and needles as the blood finally circulated after hours of being in one very uncomfortable position. Hungry and thirsty, he concentrated on keeping erect and walking behind Gord's horse while Pete half trotted behind Flint's mount. Shumway followed close behind on his roan for another three-mile trek to the river's edge.

If not for his hands cuffed behind his back, Matt would have tried something when the ransom money was shoved into the hollow oak. The trouble with that was even if he'd shoved backwards, forcing Gord's hand away from his mouth creating a diversion, nobody across the river was armed. There was nobody to follow up. The non-opportunity passed as Doc's buggy and the Gilberts' wagon pulled away. The ransom could be safely claimed.

While Brad Shumway remained on the north shore of the Arkansas, Gord and Flint, never releasing their hold on the ropes attached to their captives mounted their horses, pulling the man and boy into the water. Gord made sure the rope he held jerked suddenly halfway across, causing Matt to fall backwards into the water. To compensate for his hands uselessly cuffed behind his back he tried desperately to dig his heels into the sandy bottom in a life or death effort to regain his feet before he drowned. Only a second sharp jerk from Gord and Flint simultaneously slackening his hold on the rope around Pete so the boy could get to him prevented the lawman from experiencing anything more than a thorough soaking.

"Appears you're one dog who cain't swim. The kid had to keep you from drowning. You're in for it if you get the money in your carpetbag wet. I know how much it will pain you if I take it out on the kid."

"Are you planning on freeing my hands so I can pick it up?" Matt defiantly asked.

"Now why would I want to make it easy for you boy? You'll crawl into the hole, pick up the kid's satchel in your teeth and place it around his fingers like the dog you are. Then you'll fetch your carpetbag to carry back across in your mouth until I tell you to release it into my hand. If the handle's slimy you won't get a treat, but you and the kid will be punished."

Somehow on the way back Matt managed to anticipate when Gord would jerk the taut rope so that he didn't fall again. The one thing he couldn't do, despite his thirst, was keep from salivating. The handle of his carpetbag was slippery with spit long before Shumway opened his hand so he could slide it over the scumbag's fingers. During the eternity that was the 120 seconds he counted in his head from reaching the shore to letting go of the bag Gord and Flint kept their pistols aimed at him and, more importantly, at Peter Patterson.

Free to speak now that the gag that was the handle of his carpetbag no longer filled his mouth, Matt spat out, "I could have spit in your face after I coated your hand, but I refuse to sink to your level. I'll continue to do what whatever keeps Pete alive no matter how you try to humiliate me!"

"You'll pay for your insolence dog. The lad's punishment will be minor. Gord, Flint mount up! We haven't much time."

Again, Gord and Flint led the way with the lying Shumway in the rear. Only this time even Matt with his long legs was forced into a half trot. Poor Pete had to run the two miles to the fork in the road where the outlaws would leave them. Both stumbled and nearly fell crossing the Santa Fe tracks. 100 yards from their destination, a shot rang out. Matt turned his head in time to see Shumway fire his Colt before he fell forward thanks to a bullet passing through his lower leg. He'd barely registered he'd been hit when a second one pierced his shoulder.

"Get up dog!" Shumway demanded. "It ain't that much further to walk."

Flint, on his horse, jerked the rope around the marshal's chest hard, pulling the big man to his feet. He then set off at a slow walk. Shumway, also mounted, following close behind with a second lasso he looped around the lawman's neck and tied to his own saddle horn. Between them the outlaws made sure Matt remained standing. Limping, the amount of blood pouring from the leg wound increased with each step as he was half-dragged toward where they planned to tie him. Once he was in position they eased up on the ropes causing the marshal to collapse to the ground, his back against a tree trunk. Within minutes both kidnap victims were securely fastened to a tree with Matt again trussed up with his knees against his chest causing his left shoulder to bleed as much if not more than his right leg.

"Boss, shouldn't we finish them both off?" Gord asked. "At this range Flint and I could kill them with a single shot or fix it so they die just as them four who paid the money get here."

"No need. With the way that dog of a lawman's bleeding he'll be out cold if not dead when the old man and very pretty gal who paid his ransom get here in an hour to claim him. We could kill the kid quick but he's too scared to say anything about what we look like. Besides, he's got no reason to like the law, not with his old man in prison or to trust his kin."

"I'll live to see all of you hang," Matt blurted out.

"Boy, you talk big just like the filthy crooked law dog Murphy who beat my ma and me after he took over pa's hardware store when he killed him for not payin' enough in protection and forced Ma to marry him. He learned what yer learnin' now when I was 15 and could get away from his beatins, humiliatin' punishment tasks and far too many days without food and water. By then it was too late for Ma. He'd beat her to death. Tug Murphy was my first kill. Dillon, you might be my last, but you'll die slow like my ma," he growled as he hit Matt in the head with his pistol butt and followed with a lighter blow to Pete's head to knock the child out as well. " Let's go boys!"


	5. Chapter 5 But Now They

But Now They're Found

Doc pulled his buggy up as close as possible to where Matt and Pete were tied. Rod Gilbert stopped his wagon along side the doctor's rig. All four of them thought the worst because neither man nor child reacted to their approach. Doc, grabbing his medical bag, was the first to approach the ransomed pair followed closely by Kitty, Rod and Cora, everyone hoping things weren't as bad as it seemed. Still, the scene before them wasn't unexpected. Kidnappers, especially those who'd robbed and murdered in front of their victims, tended not to leave them alive to bear witness.

Peter Patterson opened his eyes the moment his uncle stepped behind the tree and cut the rope binding him to it to look into the concerned, kind face of the aunt he'd never laid eyes on until now. In his dazed state he nearly mistook her for his recently deceased mother. She wasn't quite his mother's twin, but they shared the same wavy blond hair and sparkling blue eyes, although Martha Patterson's eyes lost their luster as her disease gained the upper hand. Nothing so uplifting to their spirits greeted Doc and Kitty when they reached Matt.

"Aunt Cora, don't fret none about me. It's Marshal Dillon who needs help," Pete said as he noticed the mismatched couple, at least to his young eyes, tending to the marshal. "I owe him my life. If I hadn't been along he'd rather have died than take what he did from the outlaw boss Shumway. Sir, the key to those cuffs is in the marshal's right vest pocket," the lad told the obviously upset doctor. I saw him put it there when he took 'em off pa's wrists. The guards used their own pair when they took pa back to prison. That mean Shumway never looked. He musta thought the key was in Mr. Dillon's saddlebags or else he'd have taken it with him just to add one more insult."

While Kitty helped balance the unconscious lawman against the tree that until recently had held him in a sitting position, Doc plucked the key from Matt's vest pocket to quickly release his friend's hands. Once they were free, he gently moved the big man's arms to a more natural and far more comfortable position before examining the damage done by the bullets and blow to the head. He looked up momentarily from his examination at Kitty's questioning look, but quickly turned back to the wounds because he didn't know what to tell her.

"How bad off is the marshal, Doctor Adams? We can take him in our wagon to wherever you think best – Dodge, the fort or our home."

"Fort Dodge is closest and their infirmary has all I might need. The trip to my office is far too risky. Take my buggy to your home Rod while Kitty and I drive your wagon to the fort so you can get Peter settled. I'll stop by to check on him once Matt's stable and return your wagon."

"Doc, I told Chester to meet us at the Gilbert farm in case we couldn't bring Matt home. Can he make it there?" Kitty asked. "It's closer than Dodge and only a little farther than the fort."

"His pulse is stronger now that his head and leg ain't bleedin' and the flow from his shoulder wound has slowed considerably since his arm's no longer pulling on it. He's also breathing a bit easier. He'd probably be more comfortable there than in an army infirmary. It's worth the risk if you get this list of things I'll need from the medic, Rod," he added, handing a sheet of paper to the farmer.

"Peter, once the grownups get Mr. Dillon onto the soft hay in the wagon bed, I'll give you a boost up," his uncle told him as they prepared to leave. "Do you want to ride in back with Miss Russell and Doctor Adams or on the seat with your aunt?"

Matt was still unconscious, but seemingly no weaker when they arrived at the Gilbert farm an hour later thanks to a considerable slowing in the rate of blood loss. Pete jumped down from the wagon seat as soon as they arrived and ran to open the door, followed by Cora, while Doc and Kitty remained in the wagon with the man they cared about so much until a bed was ready for him.

The farmwife sent her nephew, who was soaked from the waste down, to change into dry clothes from among those he brought with him from Brookville in his valise and carpetbag. Pete's clothing was neatly arranged on a cot in one corner of the kitchen, which is where the adults left him on his own. Being chilled and hungry it didn't take him long to don new apparel and spot the plate of cookies on the table next to an empty glass. Accustomed as he was to the ways of a farm kitchen the boy easily spied the icebox. Once he'd poured milk into the glass and returned the pitcher to where he'd found it, Pete put a large pot of water on the stove to heat knowing that even if the doctor didn't need it, the grownups might want tea. Just in case, he also filled the coffee pot and set it on the stove to boil as well.

All of this activity on her nephew's part occurred while Cora Gilbert quickly made up the bed that had been her rather strapping 12-year-old son's for Matt that would later be Pete's. Linens for the spare bed, they would carry in from the room where their nine-year-old daughter had slept, could wait until the marshal was made comfortable. She and Rod understood loss and children all too well. She knew the lad was much too keyed up to sleep just yet, so making up his temporary bed in the kitchen could wait as well. As much as she knew he needed attention, Pete would have to make due with what was there until the doctor and Miss Kitty no longer needed her help.

Rod arrived with Major Honeywell and the supplies Doc wanted as Chester rode into the yard. By then Doc, with Kitty and Cora's help, had removed or cut away the injured man's blood and water soaked clothes, cleaned his not as serious as feared head wound and sutured the holes left by the bullet passing through his lower right leg without breaking either bone. He was probing for the bullet in the lawman's left shoulder when three men, directed there by a very restless boy, stepped quietly, but not entirely unheard, into the room.

"Put the bandages and laudanum on that table, Rod," Doc mumbled without looking up. "I've found it Kitty, the bullet's lodged against his clavicle. Hand me the forceps. I won't know for sure until I remove it, but the bone may be bruised rather than broken. Either way, he'll need to keep his arm in a sling for at least a month."

"It doesn't appear Matt will be going after those outlaws anytime soon, let alone identifying them," the major whispered to Chester unaware of the child standing behind them trying to see into the room.

"Mr. Dillon can't tell you anything right now, but I can," Pete boldly declared. "I know exactly what they look like and where they're headed. They didn't know I heard them talkin' when I was cleanin' up their supper and breakfast. They're headin' for the Dakota badlands but plan to rob more folks along the way, startin' in Hays."

Doc and Kitty paid little attention to what Pete had said. They were too busy trying to save Matt's life, but Major Honeywell and Chester did. Briefly telling the Gilbert family he'd return tomorrow the marshal's assistant rode off to Fort Dodge with its commanding officer to send off a telegram to Frank Reardon, the sheriff in Hays, and a follow-up wire to the stage company with the description of the men and their crimes, which Pete provided, boiled down to the essentials.

Ten minutes later Doc had sutured and bandaged the final and most serious wound. He then placed Matt's left arm in a sling before listening yet again to the big man's chest through his stethoscope and frowned.

"Doc, what's wrong?" Kitty asked of the man who'd become more of a father to her than the man who sired her ever was. "Matt's gonna be okay, isn't he?"

"I hope so. We'll be taking him home in a couple of days, barring infection and fever. It's just that what I heard doesn't make sense. It sounded to me like he has some water in his lungs."

"Doctor Adams, I can explain it," Pete insisted while pulling at the man's sleeve. "Marshal Dillon nearly drowned when we crossed the river to get the money. He would have if I didn't get his face out of the water when the man called Flint let the rope holdin' me go slack enough to let me get over to him. Then Gord, the other one, jerked on the rope 'round Mr. Dillon a second time, hard enough to pull him upright. The first time is what caused him to go under."

"Thank you for the explanation. I'd like you to answer another question. How long has it been since Matt had anything to eat or drink?"

"I know Mr. Dillon didn't eat nothin' after Larned. He mighta drunk some water when we stopped in Spearville, but I ain't sure."

"Pete, bring me a glass of water," Doc ordered in response to what the boy told him. "Kitty," he added as soon as the boy returned. "I'll hold up his head. See if you can force his lips open so he gets a few sips of water down his throat."

Although not really conscious, Matt seemed aware enough to part his lips when he felt the rim of the glass against them, reflexively swallowing the water. It seemed to be the signal for Pete and the Gilberts to leave what would become the lad's bedroom so Doc and Kitty could take up their vigil. The second bed, now moved in from the deceased little girl's room, would allow them to take turns resting while the other remained alert for any sign of change in the wounded man's condition. Until Matt could be moved, the uprooted child would have to be content with bedding down on the cot in the kitchen and being mostly ignored.


	6. Chapter 6 Will He or Won't He

AN: Thanks Guest Sarah for reading and praising my little story.

Will He or Won't He

Neither the middle-aged physician nor the young redheaded saloon owner acting as his nurse made use of the spare bed during the remaining hours of daylight and far into the night. After those first few sips of water in at least 24 hours, their patient managed to swallow a glassful before very briefly coming to as it became fully dark.

"Kitty, where are we?" he whispered softly, feeling her gentle touch as she laid his head back on the pillow. "Did Pete get to his kin?"

"The answer to both your questions is the Gilbert farm. I'll tell you everything when you're stronger. Doc may not have heard us, but he saw," she added as the physician made his way across the room.

"Doc, I've got to get out of this bed and after those men. Everything depends on me catching them."

"I'll tell you what, Mr. Marshal. If you keep quiet long enough for me to listen to your chest, I won't stop you from trying to sit up without help. Do we have a deal?"

Matt tried but found he could only push himself upright with his one good hand, but even if he'd had the use of both he was too weak from loss of blood and lack of food and water to sit up. Even lifting his head proved taxing. Not only that, but the small amount of movement he was able to force his abused body to make brought about excruciating pain. He gratefully accepted a second glass of water despite the bitter taste of the laudanum dissolved into it.

Matt had fallen into what Doc hoped was a healing sleep when Cora Gilbert knock on the door. She carried a tray with supper for the doctor and his nurse, who she suspected was more than that to the lawman, and a steaming bowl of beef broth for the patient when he was ready for it. Her very tired nephew Pete followed closely after carrying a couple of cups and a coffeepot. Despite the warmth of the mid-September days, the nights were cold, so a few minutes later Rod Gilbert came into the room with an armload of kindling to start a fire in the hearth to keep the room, coffee and broth warm. Once he had it going and sufficient logs piled on the newly constituted family of three bid their guests goodnight.

After eating supper, Doc and Kitty resumed their vigil. They sat in chairs on either side of Matt's bed except when one or the other would leave for calls of nature or to shift the logs in the fireplace to keep the room at an even temperature and make sure neither the coffee nor the broth got cold. Doc did that more often than Kitty, which is why she was the first to notice the change.

"Doc, he feels warm. This fever came on suddenly," she added trying to hide the concern in her voice.

Matt began coughing before Doc could shuffle across the room to his bedside. It also seemed to Kitty that his temperature rose as well. The physician sent her to the kitchen for a bucket of water and cool damp cloths while he listened to his friend's chest. His heartbeat was still strong, but the doctor could hear the congestion in his lungs. The near drowning combined with the blood loss had brought on pneumonia. Even more disturbing than the cough and rising temperature was Matt had become unresponsive.

The patient may have been outwardly calm to the point of immobility save the slight rise and fall of his chest, but his mind was in turmoil. Matt wrestled with the thought that though Peter Patterson was as healthy as any eight-year-old could be expected to be who'd experienced what he had in the last few days, the lawman assigned to deliver him to his aunt and uncle had failed. In his mind it was Pete's ma's sister Cora, her husband Rod, Doc, Kitty and Brad Shumway's last minute reprieve that were responsible for the favorable outcome. All he'd done was allow Shumway to debase and abuse him in hopes it would keep the man from ordering the torture and murder of a child by Gord, Flint or doing it himself. Beyond that, Matt knew those three got clean away with the army's and the ransom money, a clear failure. Heck, he should have stopped them during the stage robbery, preventing the kidnapping. To top it off, even if Pete didn't talk about what they were both subjected to, Kitty would eventually find out about her cowboy's humiliation anyway. How could she possibly want anything to do with him then? Without her beside him why should he go on?

When Kitty went to the kitchen for the water and clean rags she was now using, Pete was asleep in his bed in the corner, but the Gilberts were still awake. They made sure there was an ample supply of cool water available. Additionally, before turning in for the night in their own bedroom Cora carried the extra pillows to prop up Matt's head in an effort to ease his breathing. Since neither woman had a free hand because of what they carried, Rod opened the bedroom door. As soon as they left Kitty focused her attention completely on the man she loved, watching and listening closely.

Kitty bathed his forehead and torso while Doc, sitting at a table across the room, mixed up powders to try to reduce the fever. The redhead more felt than saw Matt's facial muscles tighten. Hearing the delirium induced whispered words of self doubt were superfluous. She knew him too well.

"Took abuse for nothing. Failed oath. Kitty hears … despise me. No better dog acted like."

Matt quieted when Doc approached holding the glass of water with more of the powders dissolved in it. He handed it to Kitty to administer while he checked his patient's pulse and listened to his chest. There was definitely more fluid in his lungs than the left over river water from the near drowning. Even more disturbing, his pulse and heartbeat were weaker while his fever had climbed alarmingly. What he didn't expect was the reaction from the young woman who he'd been training as his nurse so he could pass a skill on to the redhead he saw as a beloved daughter. She'd figured out what lay behind her man's deteriorating condition. Her father figure, doctor or no, was in the way."

"Doc, there's nothing more you can do for him! Go away so I can be alone with him!" she snarled, driving the man with the curly graying hair away.

"I don't care if you can hear me or not Matt Dillon, but you better listen," she whispered in his ear as soon as the doctor left the bedside. "I don't know what you were forced to do, but doing it didn't make you a failure or less of a man. Saving the life of a child is a big success in my book! Catching those three and getting the money back will take more time, but it'll happen. You don't need to be the one to do it!"

Kitty continued to rail at Matt whenever Doc was out of earshot. As much as the older man loved them there were some things a girl only shared with the man who shared her bed. The physician, who wanted nothing more than to see the couple married so they could give him grandchildren to spoil, understood that the medicine only she could provide was what would restore the man's will to live. He willingly gave them their privacy.

Doc, despite wanting to give the couple as much privacy as possible, continued to check on Matt every hour. The only positive observation he made was at least the lawman's condition wasn't worse. His temperature remained at 103 throughout the rest of the night. As the first rays of the sun poked through the room's east-facing window, Kitty, who'd kept a steady hold on her man's right hand, tried yet again to reach into his mind.

"Listen up Cowboy. I risked my share of the Long Branch to get you back. I won't believe the man who gave me the strength to be an owner instead of just a saloon girl would give up on life. If he did I'm not sure I'd want to remain in Dodge, but I'd find a way to pay off the bank loan no matter what it took. Please, for my sake, remember you did what you had to do to survive and not betray that damn oath. That's nothing to be ashamed of. It's one reason I love you."

It had to be her imagination, but Kitty could swear she felt his skin cool. She was about to call Doc over from where he sat staring into the dying fire when Matt gently squeezed her hand and turned his head to face her.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" he asked with surprising strength, obviously not wanting her to answer. "Seems you still want me in your life. Much as I didn't want to I never could deny you that. I reckon I'll just have to live, but if I'm gonna do that I need breakfast. Care to join me?"

"What's going on here?" Doc asked, appearing on the opposite side of the bed with a cup of tepid beef broth in his right hand. "Drink this down. Then we'll see if you're ready to join this beautiful young lady and me for a real breakfast. If you are, we'll request room service."


	7. Chapter 7 Physically on the Mend

AN: There's a theory that people in comas hear what's being said to them somewhere in their subconscious but are physically unable to respond. It also happens to work within the story given M & K's strong connection.

Physically on the Mend

Doc, despite the substantial breakfast he ate after his fever broke, wanted Matt to remain in bed until his lungs were completely clear. However, he knew his patient too well. Hence he made a show of conceding his friend, with the help of those around him, could try to walk with the aid of a cane across the room if his right leg was able to withstand the stress of rising from the bed to momentarily stand.

The physician even agreed his patient should gradually increase the distance he walked as his strength returned until he could reach the Gilbert's kitchen. Doc also accepted the big lawman would go home in the physician's buggy when he attained that goal provided Matt went straight to bed when they reached Dodge.

Doc smiled to himself knowing there was no cane in the farmhouse for Matt to use. Even seeing Major Honeywell, who decided the army had at least a partial jurisdiction thanks to the crime involving Army property and the kidnapping and possible murder of a federal marshal, early that afternoon seeking detailed as possible descriptions from Pete of the fugitives didn't alter his mood. Unfortunately the officer brought a cane, along with more laudanum and bandages, because he thought it might prove useful.

"I've an overgrown public servant who'll look on that cane as his means to force me into keeping my promise to let him out of bed, but let's keep it our secret," Doc told the officer. "Let him think Chester will bring one tomorrow."

"I'd appreciate it if I could talk to Matt before I leave, provided you think he's well enough. I promise I won't tell him about the cane."

"I'm afraid speaking with you might be detrimental. Kitty hinted he suffered a lot more than a couple bullet wounds and a pistol whipping."

The major was already mounted when Chester arrived to check on his boss, bring Kitty her mare and several changes of clothing, including her riding habit, and let Doc know that the elderly teller Elroy Parker was eager for Doc to return to his office to remove his stitches so he could return to work. Kitty, taking advantage of Matt having fallen asleep, greeted the jailer as tied her horse to the rail.

"Chester, thank you. Please thank Laura for me when you get back to town," Kitty added spotting the large valise Bill Pence's girl Laura Simmons, a girl with knowledge of the ways of city society, packed. Laura, who hailed from Philadelphia and came close to marrying into society, knew her beau's partner wouldn't want to ride back into town looking any less well attired than the New Orleans born lady she'd originally been groomed to be.

Kitty waited, but only until her man insisted on feeding himself his supper that evening before showing him the cane. Ignoring Doc's frown she placed it within reach when Matt succeeded in clearing the heaping plate of roast chicken and all that went with it Cora Gilbert had prepared. As soon as the empty dishes were cleared away Matt, though still weak, hobbled from the bed to the door and back before sinking back against his pillows. Two mornings later he walked, albeit slowly, to the kitchen for a hearty breakfast with the rest of the residents, permanent and temporary.

Doc winked at Kitty indicating it was time to head home. While an impatient Matt sat on the front porch obediently yet reluctantly waiting five healthy people got everything ready. Fifteen minutes later Doc and Kitty discretely helped Matt into Doc's buggy before Rod gave her a boost up onto her mare as they all said their goodbyes. After three hours slowly covering the six miles from farm to town a tired marshal, offering minimal protest, was asleep in his room and Kitty was back at work at the Long Branch for the first time in four nights.

Matt slept through the night. Even if it wasn't much after dawn when he awoke he threw the covers off, sat up and rose from his bed, falling back onto it when he failed to grab the cane in time. Unlike Chester with his stiff right leg but two good arms, the lawman realized even without the pain he'd be slow and awkward mounting his horse to ride out after the outlaws while balancing a cane with his left arm still in a sling. He pictured the sorry sight of him spotting his prey yet crumpling to the ground without being shot because his leg gave out when he dropped the cane to draw his Colt, prematurely alerting three scumbags to his presence. With those sobering thoughts of certain death filling his head Matt carefully dressed, mindful of needing to gingerly temporarily remove his arm from the sling and his right boot reaching an inch or two below the bandages on his leg. Finally, leaving his sidearm behind and leaning on his cane, he hobbled the normally short distance from his room to the jailhouse.

"Mr. Dillon, yer up early? Yah wanna mosey over to Delmonico's fer breakfast with me now or set a spell?"

"Breakfast would be fine, Chester. Later. Bring me a cup of coffee to drink while I catch up on paperwork."

"Uh this come in yesterday," Chester muttered handing Matt an envelope with a telegram inside it. "I stuck it in my pocket an' didn't think 'bout it 'til now."

The marshal scowled at his assistant momentarily before scanning the wire from Hays. Actually, he thought despite the delay in giving it to him he was proud Chester thought to alert Frank Reardon that the three outlaws were heading his way. It allowed the Hays sheriff to nab Gord, Flint and Shumway when they attempted to rob the bank. While he would have preferred catching them himself, Matt was both relieved and apprehensive to learn his best friend locked them in his jail to await trial for armed robbery as soon as the judge got there and on additional charges of armed robbery, murder, kidnapping, assault and attempted murder when the key witnesses arrived. Judge Kendall was due back home in Hays from his tour of the circuit late morning or early afternoon on Saturday September 24, 1870, four days from now.

After reading Frank's wire Matt decided the rest of the paperwork on his desk could wait while he joined his friends for breakfast. The normally taciturn marshal didn't utter more than two monosyllabic words during the entire meal with Chester, Doc and Kitty nor did he pay much attention to what was on his plate once he passed around the telegram so they could all read it. The food was merely an additional excuse to not talk about what was bothering him. As soon as his plate was noticeably emptier from mechanically putting what had been on it in his mouth Matt sent Chester off for the day's mail, to send a response letting Frank know when they'd arrive and buy six tickets on the Monday morning stage to Hays.

The three close friends were seated at their usual table sipping fresh coffee when Chester, holding the mail and tickets, entered the Long Branch to join them. Matt, his injured leg propped up on a chair to ease the pain, hadn't realized the toll walking from his room to his office, from there after a few minutes to Delmonico's and on to the saloon when they finished eating had taken on his far from healthy body. Even seated he was in considerable pain. Stretching his right leg out eased that ache somewhat, but it did nothing to ease the throb in his damaged left shoulder.

"Chester, unless there's a paycheck among those envelopes drop them on my desk with the rest of what I haven't gotten to on your way to the stable," he instructed hiding his considerable discomfort. "When you give the Gilberts their three tickets tell them to meet us at the depot at 7 Monday morning."

Matt spent the majority of the time he was awake during the next five days in his office with his foot propped on a chair while wading through what seemed like endless paperwork. At least it kept him busy, but not engaged enough to avoid brooding. While part of him hoped no gunman showed up looking to boost his reputation, another wished one would so he'd be spared testifying in Hays about how he came to be a crippled man without his gun at his hip. Everyone would know he failed and why. He welcomed facing his former tormentors and even the jury but not the fact he would no longer be able to keep his humiliation to himself, although he suspected Kitty knew. He reckoned he'd spilled it in his delirium because somewhere in the back of his mind he sensed she'd challenged him to not give in to feelings of guilt and inadequacy.

There was no reprieve. Not a single killer or spoiler rode into town to take advantage of his incapacity. Dodge, the so-called Gomorrah of the Plains remained quiet – so quiet Chester had no trouble handling things. Even riding off in the general direction of Hays on his own so he'd have a chance to sort the recent events out before testifying at the trial was denied him. Doc was right. The ride would be too physically taxing with a bum right leg and his left arm in a sling and he'd be a sitting duck for any drifter who crossed his path as long as he needed that cane while camped on the ground.

By Monday morning, despite some improvement, Matt, who could now hobble with the aid of the cane without fatigue from his office to the Long Branch or Delmonico's and even stand for a full minute without leaning on the prop, still felt more comfortable with his leg stretched out in front of him while seated. Knowing it was still needed he took the stick with him on the stage rather than store it with his carpetbag but, for appearances sake, the lawman also wore his gun belt under his travel coat. However, he bowed to his infirmities by allowing Kitty to surreptitiously boost herself onto the forward facing center seat across from Cora Gilbert, thanks to a discrete hand-up from Doc seated by the far window. Pete Patterson insisted on climbing aboard on his own and sitting opposite Matt forcing his Uncle Rod to climb around Cora to take the window seat opposite Doc.


	8. Chapter 8 It Could Have Been Worse

It Could Have Been Worse

The 100-mile trip to Hays City could hardly have been anything but uneventful since the six witnesses, half from Dodge City and half from nearby in Ford County occupied all the seats and there was no robbery attempt, not even when they stopped to rest and eat at the relay station. It's where Jim Buck replaced the original driver and reassured Marshal Matt Dillon they carried nothing of value. Even so the lawman expected trouble all the way into Hays. Matt didn't breath a sigh of relief until the horses slowed as they approached the depot and he spotted the two-person reception committee. Frank Reardon stood on the boardwalk ready to open the door as soon as the coach stopped, the Cheyenne woman he loved, Maria, beside him. Despite the closeness the two couples shared Frank assumed a no nonsense attitude in front of them, Doc, the three strangers sharing their coach and even the driver.

"Trial starts tomorrow at nine. I reckon you folks will be ready. I'm Frank Reardon, Hays City Sheriff," Frank told the strangers while neglecting to introduce his female companion.

"I'm sorry our sheriff is so rude," Maria said in an effort to cover her man's social gaffe. "Frank's just happy to see our friends. However, even though it's a bit late for dinner Sheriff Reardon did remember to reserve a large table in the restaurant for all of us. I'm Maria Soaring Eagle," she added with a welcoming smile as she held out her hand.

"Pardon me fer askin' but I thought squaws were all on reservations with their bucks?" Rod Gilbert responded with an implied question rather than a handshake.

"We do need to remind our menfolk of the niceties from time to time, the farm woman replied, embarrassed by her husband's open prejudice. "I'm Cora Gilbert, the man who didn't shake your hand is my husband Rod and the boy's our nephew Peter Patterson."

Raised to be polite and having grown used to the ignorance of whites about the ways of her people, Maria ignored the man's impudence before his wife apologized for him and turned to the eight-year-old. Peter Patterson excitedly shook her hand. Unlike his uncle the boy was thrilled to meet a real Indian. He was the first of his family to followed her to the restaurant across from the depot while the sheriff let Jim Buck know where the stage company porter should put his passengers' bags. Jim, with the help of the depot's two teenage porters, carried the three carpetbags, medical bag and valise to the hotel before hauling the marshal and saloon owner's luggage to the front porch of Maria's cozy home.

By the time dessert was served Rod, despite his initial distrust, had ceased to be wary of Maria's presence thanks to her warmth and an explanation of her presence. Without revealing any of the details Maria told of traveling with Frank from her mission school in Colorado, meeting Kitty, Matt and Doc along the way and deciding to try using her sewing and healing skills in Hays rather than going with her family to the reservation. She'd just completed her tale when the reason they were all there intruded. The prosecutor for tomorrow's trial, Will Prescott, approached their table to let his witnesses know that they would be interviewed in turn after they'd settled in at the hotel or, in Matt and Kitty's case, Maria's house.

Cora hesitated when she entered the hotel lobby with her family and Doc and saw their bags in front of the desk. She was unsure of the proprieties of a young boy she barely knew sharing a room with a husband and wife but felt he was too young for his own hotel room even if they could afford it. Doc, knowing the government's propensity to save as much as they could on small matters like providing expenses for out of town witnesses, solved her dilemma by volunteering to share his room with the lad.

Once these four witnesses settled in Prescott invited them one at a time to his own suite of rooms down the hall from their adjoining ones. The lawyer began probing what they knew with Rod Gilbert, followed by Doc and then Mrs. Gilbert. He asked Cora Gilbert, in deference to the witness' age, to stay in the room while he talked with eight-year-old Peter Patterson.

With only Kitty Russell and Marshal Dillon remaining to be interviewed the prosecutor left the hotel to called upon them a couple of blocks away at Maria's home. Her cottage, across a side street from the large sheriff's office, was convenient to both Maria's customers and Frank. Women could take advantage of her fine dressmaking, the local doctor could ask for her help in caring for patients and Frank could eat and sleep there without calling attention to the fact it was the home of a Cheyenne woman intimately involved with their sheriff.

By the time Will Prescott was invited inside Maria and Kitty were already relaxing in the combined living room and kitchen with their feet in slippers, taking advantage of the absence of their men. Matt and Frank had drifted across the alley to the jailhouse but not before Frank moved Kitty's small trunk, carpetbag and two hatboxes, along with Matt's carpetbag, into the spare bedroom where the Hays couple's closest friends would sleep. Matt, despite the handicap of having one arm in a sling and the other holding onto a cane, protested that they only allowed him to carry his saddlebags. To placate him Frank had agreed to walk with him across the street to the jail.

Reviewing Kitty Russell's testimony took no more than 15 minutes. He didn't think he'd have to spend anywhere near the hour he'd spent with his second most important witness Matt Dillon since the marshal was used to providing the main testimony in a case. He found Sheriff Reardon sitting with both legs propped up and his chair tilted against the wall. The marshal was in a similar position in a chair beside the desk. The heavy door to the cells were closed allowing the two men to chat quietly so the deputy scanning wanted posters wouldn't overhear them.

Once the deputy left to eat his supper the prosecutor went over the bare facts of Dillon's testimony. The interview lasted only ten minutes more than it took to review what Miss Russell would say on the witness stand. Still, he couldn't help but feel the marshal was reluctant to reveal everything that happened from the time he boarded the stage in Larned until he and Peter Patterson arrived at the Gilbert farm. He hoped this strange reluctance wouldn't impact the success of the prosecution.

"Frank, do you mind if I visit with the prisoners?" Matt asked as soon as Prescott left. "I want to see how Shumway reacts to me standing in front of him."

"Alright Matt, as long as I'm with you. I don't want to take any chances his reaction will have an effect on tomorrow's trial," he added, echoing the prosecutor's fears.

Matt dismissed his best friend's concern for his vulnerable condition and the possibility it would lead to an escape attempt that at best could injure him further. However, in consideration of that friendship he readily agreed to Frank's presence, but also elected to show as little physical weakness as possible. Therefore, when the two lawmen stepped into the area housing the prisoners the marshal left his cane behind but wore his gun on his hip. He stood back from the cell yet close enough for Shumway to see him clearly. Upon seeing the hate and shock on the outlaw's face Matt took two steps backward to lean against the facing cell, not out of fear but to ease his weight off the injured leg, which now throbbed.

He'd planned on asking a question, but seeing the answer on the outlaw's face, turned on his heel and left to more completely ease the pain. Frank, following close behind, closed the door to the cells to watch his friend collapse into the nearest chair. Neither man spoke for a full five minutes before Matt picked up his cane and limped across the alleyway toward the house to lean against the doorframe until Maria let him inside. Mumbling something to Kitty as he passed her, the usually robust man made his way as quickly as his compromised body would allow into the room set aside as their bedroom. She followed to help in whatever way she could.

Matt slept through supper at the house but Doc, who joined the two couples for the meal, wasn't too concerned that there were four seated around the table rather than five. He felt the toll the long trip placed on the marshal's body caused his extreme fatigue and that a long, restful nap combined with a good night's sleep would refresh him for the next day's trial.

Except for waking long enough to eat a small portion of the supper Maria warmed for him, Matt slept until Kitty entered the room to turn in for the night. She tried to be as quiet as possible, but could see he was awake, despite his effort to hide it, when she curled up under the covers next to him. Reading and understanding his mood, she dimmed the bedside lamp and let sleep renew her own tired body until Matt's nightmare woke her. Kitty gently then more violently, narrowly missing a black eye while doing so, shook the man beside her until he too was awake.

"What's wrong, Cowboy? You want to talk about it? What did you dream?"

"Sorry I woke you, honey. I reckon I owe it to you to tell you what I dreamt. I dreamed about my hanging in April. Only this time when you, Frank and Maria arrived in time to keep my neck from breaking it didn't end with us going home. Instead I repeatedly was tortured and hanged."

"You don't see a connection, but I do. What Shumway and his men did to you ten days ago reminds you of how Quinton and Watkins tortured you in Quinton. Whatever the similarities, you're not the one on trial this time. As the main prosecution witness you're in control not vindictive men who choose to try you for murder in a kangaroo court under the name of a murdered drifter riding for Jake Worth, Harley Fitznoble. That's all I'll say because right now we both need sleep."

The trial moved swiftly. Every prosecution witness except Matt Dillon had been called to the stand by the time Judge Kendall declared an hour's recess for dinner. Matt, having lost his usual hearty appetite, pushed more food around on his plate than he forked into his mouth. He was somewhat mollified Will Prescott hadn't asked Pete to explicitly describe how the ransom reached the kidnappers nor dwelt on the boy rescuing him from drowning despite Doc's earlier testimony about finding fluid in his lungs. The defense also ignored those troubling details, probably to spare the child. That wouldn't be the case for a big, tough no nonsense US Marshal. Matt didn't feel all that big or tough as he was sworn in and the questioning began.

"Marshal Dillon, we've established you were on the stage to escort young Peter Patterson to his temporary legal guardians, his uncle and aunt Mr. and Mrs. Rodney Gilbert, while his father, his only remaining parent, completed a prison sentence. Was there a secondary assignment?"

"Yes. Help the driver and shotgun guard protect the strongbox with the Army's $25,000 inside."

Matt's testimony confirmed what Pete had stated under oath about the robbery and their kidnapping. In addition, he testified that their fellow passenger Brad Shumway, also known as Brad Murphy, by his conduct during and after the robbery was the one who ordered Gordon Clarkson and Flint Iverson to kill the driver Slim Tompkins and shotgun guard Reese Norway. By his responses to Prescott's carefully phrased questions, designed to build the prosecution case without forcing disclosure of prurient details, the jury learned eight-year-old Pete was afforded more freedom of movement, food and water than the lawman, whose hands were cuffed behind his back and further secured by a rope tightly tied to a bedstead except when outside the cabin where they were held. Matt didn't expect the same skirting of the details from the defense, but they did.

"Mr. Dillon, can you be absolutely certain the three defendants were the same men who robbed and kidnapped you and Peter Patterson, the lad it was your sworn duty to protect? Couldn't Bradford Shumway, a mere hardware accessories salesman, have escaped and later joined up with his codefendants Mr. Gordon Clarkson and Mr. Flint Iverson out of self-preservation while you totally failed?"

"I'm sure of everything I've said. Shumway was and is their boss. He's the one with the strongbox and ransom money in his possession when they were arrested. If I failed it's only because I lacked opportunity to succeed. Dying without setting Pete free meant throwing away my life for nothing whether or not I recovered the money. Fact is, I did nearly die."

"Nicely rationalized, but isn't it possible Mr. Shumway and his companions killed the actual road agents in a confrontation and were bringing the money to the nearest town when they were arrested by your friend the sheriff based on a traumatized boy's description?"

"I may not be a lawyer, but I've been around the law long enough to know any doubt raised has to be reasonable. Your fable's hardly that even if you don't take into account the odds against all three men looking like your fictional trio or the implication that Sheriff Reardon ignored their protests of innocence. If that were true, you'd have pressed Frank on the point when he was on the stand."

Despite a valiant attempt to cast further doubt on Matt's testimony, the defense failed. The jury retired at four and returned at five with their verdict of guilty. The 12 men unanimously agreed as soon as they gathered in the room set aside for them that Clarkson and Iverson were murderers and kidnappers. The only initial doubt they had was if Shumway was guilty of more than kidnapping and attempted murder since he was inside the coach when the murders occurred and told Iverson not to kill the boy Pete. In the end, that tiny fact turned the tide for the one holdout. Only the boss of the outfit could have ordered restraint concerning killing a child.


	9. Chapter 9 Relaxation Then Home

AN: References to Matt's hanging and he, Kitty and Doc being with Frank and Maria (Season 14 Exodus 21:22) in this and the previous chapter are from my story Is This How It Ends set five months earlier. Also, I hope this chapter clarifies what charges Shumway was found guilty of.

Relaxation Then Home

Judge Kendall accepted the jury's quickly rendered guilty verdict. Taking but a moment to read the paper the foreman handed to him, he addressed the three on trial.

"Will the defendants please rise. Gordon Clarkson and Flint Iverson, you have been found guilty of murder, kidnapping and armed robbery," he told them once the three stood up. Bradford Shumway, you have been found guilty of those same charges and the additional charge of attempted murder of a federal officer. If any one of you wishes to make a statement before I pronounce sentence, you may do so now."

Gord and Flint looked at the judge long enough to shake their heads no before dropping their eyes to stare at their feet. Shumway, glared defiantly at the judge, then the jury and finally toward Matt as he took advantage of the opportunity Judge Kendall offered.

"I regret me and my two pals didn't get rich 'cause your friend, another scumbag law dog, jailed me but I'm used you to get my revenge on your kind for what Sheriff Tug Murphy did to ma and me startin' when I was the kid's age. Killin' the driver and shotgun guard was a small part of the plan I set in motion in Larned. I don't know why the kid failed to see you for the dog you are since his pa was in jail and his ma dead 'cause of vermin like you. I merely gave him a taste of his future while showin' him rabid animals can be slowly killed. I didn't reckon he'd give me up or be believed if he did. I sure didn't count on you testifying. I underestimated you. It went wrong when I let you pick who'd deliver the ransom. The doc and redhead saved your worthless hide with help from the kid's kin."

When he finished his rant, Shumway continued to glare at Matt who sat between Kitty and Doc in the front row of chairs reserved for witnesses. The Dodge City lawman, his posture erect and face expressionless, didn't give any outward indication the events leading up to this trial had any other effect than the physical damage. His attention was on Judge Kendall.

"Your remarks aimed at Marshal Dillon rather than this court removed any lingering doubt of your intentions or that all actions taken by your codefendants were on your orders, which they chose to obey," Judge Kendall began. Therefore, Bradford Shumway, Gordon Clarkson and Flint Iverson, having been found guilty by a jury of your peers, I sentence you to be hanged by the neck until dead at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, September 29, 1870. Court dismissed."

Doc and Kitty noticed Matt's eyes followed the three condemned men as Frank and his deputies led them back to their cells and that he leaned heavily on his cane as he walked out of the courtroom toward the hotel. His physical and emotional fatigue weighed heavily on him and them. It was particularly apparent when he used government funds to pay for last night and tonight for the two rooms used by Mr. and Mrs. Rod Gilbert, their nephew and Doc. All they'd need to do before using their return tickets on the next morning's seven o'clock is drop off the room keys on their way out the door.

Only Matt and Kitty would stay on in Hays with their closest friends. The marshal welcome the rare chance to be open about his relationship with Kitty and to follow Doc's orders to remain in Hays until he could walk around comfortably all day without the cane. Despite his patient's apparent cooperation and Kitty looking after him, Doc, taking no chances, enlisted Maria's medical training as well. He knew her sharp eye and knowledge of that overgrown public servant's tendency to falsely claim full health would know if his leg was completely healed and, along with the local doctor, monitor progress with his shoulder. However, for now they gathered for supper. Once the waiter left to fill eight orders, Frank took it upon himself to bring up the subject that brought them together.

"Now that the trial's over, Judge Kendall's released the stolen and ransom money from evidence. In addition to y'all gettin' your money back, the War Department left it up to me to decide who receives the $10,000 reward for helping capture and convict those responsible."

After supper they waited for a reply to the telegram Frank sent to Mr. Bodkin concerning distribution of the reward money Washington sent directly to his bank in Dodge City. $2,150 of the government check would go into Doc's account while the Gilberts account would increase by $3,450. The remaining $5,000 would be deposited into Kitty's account. It was time to go their separate ways. Those leaving in the morning entered the hotel while the two couples continued on toward the jail and Maria's small house. Along the way and once they arrived hosts and guests chatted about those small things close friends share who've been apart for five months until Matt turned the conversation to business as the wall clock chimed ten.

"What's your plan for getting the ransom from the Hays bank to Dodge, Frank? Can it wait until Kitty and I take the stage home?"

"I reckon the Dodge bank can wait until you get there with a cashier's check for Mr. Bodkin to appropriately divide among yours, Kitty, Doc's and the Gilberts' accounts."

"Thanks. One more thing before at least I turn in for the night," Matt said stifling a yawn that hid a sly grin aimed at the redhead beside him. "I'll be at the hanging."

"Matt, there's no need," Frank replied knowing how his friend felt about hangings and why. "You were the main witness not the one making the arrest."

"I gotta, for me," he stated as he stood and started for the guest room, waiting the half step it took for Kitty to catch up.

Once they were alone in their bedroom Kitty snuggled up against Matt, being careful not to lean on his injured collarbone or put pressure on his nearly healed leg. She was ready to pleasure her man for the benefit of them both and to coax him into talking about what she knew was bothering him.

"Matt, I'm going with you tomorrow," she purred, sensing his mind connected his treatment in Quinton to what Shumway did. "I won't let you face that hanging alone."

"There's no need Kitty. Frank will be there."

"He'll be there officially, not as your friend," she said as she nestled even closer to him, her hand stroking his neck. "Frank may be your best friend, but he can't understand – not the way I do or the way Maria understands him."

The next morning Matt and Kitty waited in the house until Frank and his deputies escorted the three prisoners from the jail toward the gallows. Only then did they stroll arm in arm down the street to join the crowd already forming. Shumway, still being led to the scaffold, noticed the crowd part so the couple from Dodge could stand where he could see them. The abused child turned robber and murderer managed, despite his slender build, to halt a foot from the noose and prevent the hangman and the assigned deputy from forcing him to the spot above the trap door. He turned toward where Matt stood with Kitty, glared and began to speak.

"I shoulda done what was done to me more than once with the kid forced to take my ma's part. That woulda kept you and maybe him from sayin' anythin' in court and the redhead from stickin' by you. Then again, maybe I did do it while you was out cold. A thing like that makes a man's always ashamed and keeps everyone thinkin' he's not worth a plug nickel. Got you thinkin," he jeered, offering his final insult while thrusting his hips towards Matt and making sucking noises as the noose encircled his neck.

Kitty responded by moving closer and putting her right arm around her man's waist while grasping his cane so both their right hands rested on the knob of a handle. Matt, in turn, wrapped his left arm around her slender waist. Shumway's revenge was thwarted one last time as the hangman opened the traps to drop three bodies through them with a quick jerk, breaking their necks. He would have felt even worse had he seen the couple walk away arm in arm, Kitty holding the cane six inches above the street.

Matt pinned his badge on his shirt above his heart and buckled on his gun belt four days later on October 2 when he met Doc's conditions for returning home. Tucking the now unnecessary cane under his right arm and carrying her carpetbag in his right hand, his saddlebags resting on his left shoulder where the unused sling was still tied, he and Frank hefted Kitty's trunk between them. His friend held Matt's carpetbag in his left hand while the ladies carried the hatboxes and other purchases that didn't fit into the luggage Kitty had initially brought with her as they made their way to the depot.

As soon as he and Kitty were seated in the coach Matt gladly slipped his left arm back into the sling to ease the pain caused by the strain of sharing the burden of toting the overstuffed trunk. Nobody but the woman beside him would have noticed had they been alone. Alas, seated across from them was a friendly, scrawny man in his mid 20s dressed like a shopkeeper with an unruly curl of dark blond or very light brown hair drooping under his bowler hat onto his forehead. He and Kitty exchanged a quick glance communicating her understanding and their disappointment.

"I'm Ham Holbird, clockmaker by trade like my pop, headed for Dodge to repair the grandfather clock in Jake Worth's nearby ranch house. No need to introduce yourselves. I know who you are from the trial. That's where I saw Brad for the first time since we were boys back in Springhill, before Pop made us leave at the end of school after Sheriff Murphy married up with his ma and adopted him. He must have gone back to Shumway once he got away from that bastard. It's why I'm quite sure I know what's behind him acting like he did, down to the last bit before he was hanged. I was at the hanging too."

"I know what you're hinting at. No need to spell it out, especially in front of Kitty," Matt declared.

"I'm not a sheltered society women, Matt. I know what Shumway meant. We need to hear Mr. Holbird out," she retorted in hopes what they learned would help the big lawman sort out his feelings.

Deep down Matt knew she was right. It was the only way he could come to terms with both the abuse he suffered leading up to his near death by hanging in Quinton and the similar abuse he suffered at Shumway's hands. He reluctantly agreed.

"Brad and I were friends even though I'm almost a year older. Maybe it was because we lived next door to each other. Their home above his pop's hardware store stood between our house and the sheriff's office in our little town near Olathe until Mr. Shumway refused to pay protection money to the new sheriff, Tug Murphy. It came as no surprise he was killed in an attempted holdup. Within a month Sheriff Murphy married Brad's ma and took over the store, though he left runnin' it to Mrs. Murphy. That was a month before my ninth birthday, two months after Brad turned eight. My friend grew timid and thinner before school ended and my pop moved us to Hays. I was curious as to why he changed so I peeked into their kitchen window one night after supper. What I saw horrified me."

"What did you see?" Kitty asked in sympathy. "It must have been terrible if it still bothers you."

"It was. I've never told anyone until now. I shoulda told my pop back then so he'd report it on his next trip to Olathe. Brad's hands were handcuffed high behind his back and a rope around his chest held his arms tight to his sides and bent his knees smack up against his chest so he could only sit or kneel. His ma was takin' up a bowl of scraps and another of water from the floor in front of him that spilled to wash them. That's when I shoulda left, but I was too scared of what Murphy might do to my family if I told and too afraid to move."

"Everyone would have been better off if you had told," Matt uttered quietly, thinking of what he might have been spared.

"Your right Marshal. I wouldn't have seen the rest and Brad and his ma would've been spared more of what they suffered. Murphy yelled at Brad, callin' him a worthless cur of a dog in need of punishment. Then he balanced him over a corner of the table, threatening to treat him even worse and beat her if she didn't pull his pants down to his ankles and sit under the table so she could take his wonker, sorry ma'am, into her mouth while our so-called sheriff sodomized him. Then he ordered her to stand where he and Brad could see her and strip while he lifted Brad's shirt and took a strap to his bare back and buttocks before tossing him onto the floor and dragging her into the bedroom."

Kitty's face turned pale. At the same time she clutched Matt's arm, appalled at the barbarity of the abuse suffered by the young Shumway and his mother. While she'd previously sensed what was bothering him she now understood why Matt was so affected by it all, the mere implication he may have been sodomized without knowing it only making things worse. The stoic lawman, angry that Kitty knew what he was and might have been subjected to, brought his right arm up and forward, striking Holbird with a backhand hard enough to knock the clockmaker onto the floor unconscious. He finally came to with a groan at the relay station where they spent the night because of a late fall cloudburst.


	10. Chapter 10 A Time to Heal

A Time to Heal

Matt fumed as they sat at the table eating supper in the relay station, but he did glance fleetingly at Kitty sitting beside him with that boyish grin she found so irresistible. He knew the remarkable redhead wouldn't try to force him into facing his demons, but would do everything she could to dispel them. Their needs were equally great as they undressed and settled without a word into bed in one of two private rooms. Somehow during frenzied bouts of lovemaking that lasted until morning the soul mates silently communicated. She understood he needed time to process everything from Quinton to now. He, mulling over what needed doing, pulled his hat over his eyes pretending to sleep as the stage moved onto the road.

Ham Holbird felt his body relax thanks to the attempts by the beautiful young woman sitting across from him to smooth things over. Although his jaw still ached, a day after he was hit, he felt no animosity toward the marshal for hitting him when he spoke of Brad Shumway's childhood. Ham had seen that fleeting look of shame on the lawman's face that was replaced by anger and resignation before the big man struck him. One thing he knew for darn sure was Matt Dillon wouldn't open up to him, so he contented himself with polite, yet friendly conversation from Kitty Russell until they stopped to change horses before the final leg to Dodge City. The final few miles were without conversation as each passenger turned inward.

A reception committee greeted the travelers at the stage depot. Among them were stage company and Long Branch employees, men used to carrying heavy loads, who took charge of Miss Kitty's many personal items, including her trunk, bringing them to her room upstairs in the saloon. Matt's stiff-legged assistant Chester Goode hailed his boss and politely nodded to Kitty, taking charge of the lawman's carpetbag and saddlebags as soon as he welcomed them home rushing ahead of them down the boardwalk. Doc Adams soon joined the trio making their way toward the best watering hole in western Kansas. Jake Worth, the clockmaker Ham Holbird he'd be awaiting in tow, followed in their wake.

"How's the shoulder?" Doc asked noticing the sling still tied around his friend's neck hanging empty as they sat down at their usual table, just out of earshot from where Jake, two of his riders and Holbird sat. "You can't pretend you didn't try something foolish."

"Frank held the other end," Matt retorted in exasperation, knowing he couldn't hide the truth. "Stop gloating and finish your beer. Okay, I'll admit I should have used my right arm once I didn't need the cane rather than my left."

"I'll make a deal with you Mr. Marshal. Keep that arm in the sling until you stop by my office so I can check you over," Doc countered, knowing it would get the big man on his examining table sooner rather than later.

Matt glanced over to where Ham Holbird sat and wished he would disappear as easily as ridding himself of the cane and soon, the sling. The little man sitting at a nearby table remained a fixture in his mind. He deserved an apology for the undeserved knockdown in the stage. No sense putting it off any longer, the big man thought as he reached the table and stood with hat in hand beside the man's chair.

"Holbird," he stated quietly, but loud enough for Jake Worth sitting next to the man to hear, "I should never have hit you. Sorry."

"I understand, Marshal. In a way I deserved it for messin' in your private affairs by tellin' what was best left in the past." the Hays clockmaker replied, standing and offering his hand, in turn, to the man looming over him.

Jake watched the lawman and Holbird shake hands. He rose, as soon as Matt turned to return to his table, to escort the man he'd hired for one singular job out to his ranch. An hour later, Kitty excused herself to update the Long Branch books Bill Pence had wisely left alone. Meanwhile, Chester took advantage of the empty cells at the jail to join Jim Buck in a friendly poker game for as long as his money lasted, the Dodge lawman climbed the stairs to Doc's office.

"You're lucky," Doc muttered as soon as his patient removed first the sling and then his shirt. "Your collarbone's completely healed. The stiffness will gradually disappear unless you do something else as foolish as carrying Kitty's trunk, albeit with Frank's help, before your body's ready for it. Do me a favor. Do the exercises I prescribe for at least a week before attempting anymore heavy lifting. By the way, your leg's in good shape."

"Thanks, Doc. Time I got back to work."

By evening Matt had sorted through the accumulated mail and paperwork enough back to his usual routine as if the events of the past month never happened. A bit past midnight he bid Chester goodnight and left his office to make the late rounds, starting on Front street and ending by rattling back doors to make sure they were locked as he made his way to the closed Long Branch back stairs and Kitty's room.

"The room Frank and Maria provided was nice, but it's good to be home," Kitty purred as she poured him a nightcap of the finest whiskey available from the decanter on the table by the settee. "Sit back and enjoy your drink."

Matt downed that first double shot of rye in one gulp. He sipped the next oversized shot glass full, but only after he removed his boots and vest and drew Kitty, dressed only in a robe and nightgown, closer to him. The embrace became a kiss, the kiss deepened and the outside world disappeared. The couple's physical connection, complete as it was, let them know they had things to talk about before surrendering to lovemaking until they slept from shear exhaustion.

"I'm glad you apologized to Holbird," Kitty murmured, jumping right into what needed saying. "He meant well. Telling us about Shumway's childhood was his attempt to help you eventually forgive the scumbag and allow us to move forward."

"I know that. It's why I hit him and why I apologized. I didn't want to hear excuses for that bastard so in a moment of anger I backhanded the clockmaker. Sure Shumway had it rough, but that's no excuse for what he's done since, up through the morning he hanged. It was part of a calculated plan to use a child, a boy who'd just lost his ma and would be without his pa for the next five years. I shouldn't have allowed that on my watch."

"Matt, you didn't. You did what was necessary for Pete to survive long enough to reach his aunt and uncle. If you'd acted differently Peter Patterson would have been left to suffer alone until they killed him too."

"Kit, I understand what you're saying, but I still failed that boy and my oath. I should have thought of something more than surviving long enough for him to escape or be rescued. It wasn't like in Quinton. There it was only on me to suffer and die with what dignity I could muster. I should have jumped Shumway and shoved Pete outside so he could run to the nearest house as soon as I learned it was more than a simple stage holdup. How can you still think enough of me to want me with you?"

"Cowboy, you're denser than usual. It's your stubborn pride talking. During the whole time you and Pete were held captive you kept looking for an opportunity to keep Pete safe no matter the personal cost. You didn't give up even after Shumway shot you. If you had, my being by your side telling you there's no shame in doing what we must to survive wouldn't have been enough to pull you back from the brink. You'd have failed only if you stopped trying."

"Honey, I don't deserve you. What saved me at the Gilbert farm and gave me the strength to face that trial is your love and that's a fact."

"Is that a fact? Did it ever occur to you that I love you because, with all your flaws, you're the best man I know? Matt Dillon you're not infallible. You're a kind, gentle yet strong man who has the ability to do more than most to bring justice to this God-forsaken prairie through his dedication to the law even if what he has to do to fulfill that sworn duty eats him up inside."

"Did you come to that conclusion yourself or with the help of Frank and Maria? Either way, you have a way of seeing deep inside me. Maybe the demands of the job in April were too close to what I went through this past month. Someday, if I live long enough to retire and we build a home together we should hang a motto on the wall, one that I plan to hide among the wanted posters in my office until then, called Lawman's Lament – Do what you must, no matter the personal cost, to bring law to the frontier for as long as you manage to survive."


End file.
